


Not A Sky Pirate: Additional Stories

by emilythesmelly



Series: Not A Sky Pirate [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen, Short Fics, side fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-14 06:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16487717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilythesmelly/pseuds/emilythesmelly
Summary: Side stories for Not A Sky Pirate, a FFXII fanfic.  Told from different perspectives.  None of them will be essential to NaSP, but they're good, added flavor.  They're really fanfics for my fanfic, I guess.  Enjoy~





	1. The Bhujerban and the Rozarrian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work fits in the middle of [NASP: Paramina](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604905/chapters/34622949).

"I'm sorry.  We'll be back," Penelo said, and she turned and left with the others.  
  
Aelia turned back to Larsa, who was still pale and shaken with wide, wet, vacant eyes.  She knelt before him and pulled him into a tight hug.  His body sagged into hers, but he did not seem to have the strength to put his hands up and hold her back.  "I'm so sorry," she began to whisper in his ear.  "I'm so sorry.  I'm here for you."  
  
The Gran Kiltias came up beside them and put hands on their shoulders.  They looked up in surprise at the figure who had until then remained still.  He looked at Larsa and said, "Come, my child."  
  
Larsa gave Aelia a quick, questioning look, but she nodded, and he went with Anastasis into the inner sanctum.  
  
When they had gone, Aelia let out a deep breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding.  She slid down onto the small half-wall behind her and rested her head in her hands.  It was just one thing after another, and she was tired.  She would continue, whatever path this took, but she was  _tired_.  
  
"Are you alright?" Al-Cid asked from beside her.  
  
Aelia felt her heart flutter as he sat down next to her, his brown eyes examining her face.  She sighed again and shrugged.  "Preventing a war is exhausting work," she said.  
  
He gave a short laugh at that.  "I agree with you there."  He seemed to stretch out a little farther.  Still a regal, proper posture, but not overly so.  Easier.  He noticed Aelia watching the door to the inner sanctum and mused, "Was I overly direct, perhaps?  No matter, he is in good hands now."  
  
Aelia was quiet for a long moment before admitting, "I worry."  
  
Al-Cid regarded her.  "About?"  
  
She took another deep breath.  "I worry that he suspects that his brother is responsible," she said softly.  " _I_  suspect it, and Larsa is clever.  He knows what Vayne did to his older brothers.  He knows that Vayne is ruthless and capable.  And, though he knows this, Vayne is still his brother, and there is still a large part of him that clings to the hope that he is still a good man.  I worry what the loss of that hope will do to him, and I worry that there is nothing that I can do to help because I have long since abandoned that hope."  Vayne was beyond redemption.  The Empire's future lay in Larsa's hands or it lay in ruin.  She knew this deep in her bones.  
  
The Rozarrian was quiet for long enough that Aelia grew self-conscious and turned to him, face red.  He had the hint of a smile on his lips.  He said, "Do you want to know how the young lord came to ally with me?  Regardless, I will tell you."  He waved a hand, and Aelia found herself chuckling lightly.  Encouraged, he continued, "Larsa had heard that I was in Rozarria working to stop this war and reached out to me.  We wrote back and forth before agreeing to meet here.  As you might expect I would, I asked if there were others he knew who he trusted with this task.  Two people alone against two empires seemed an impossible task, no?  He told me that there was only one person in this world whom he trusts without reservation."  He paused and looked at the woman beside him.  "It was the Lady Ashe."  Seeing the change in Aelia's face, he laughed.  "I kid.  It was, of course, you."  
  
Hearing it filled her with pride.  She knew that Larsa trusted her; it was not a revelation.  But hearing it on the lips of this man whom she had never met, this man who had really  _just_ met Larsa?  That he felt it so completely that he would tell her, a stranger?   _That_  was what made her smile.  But she felt compelled to say, "He trusts Ashe too, you know."  
  
Again, he waved a hand.  "Ah, yes, but this is not the point.  The point is that I do not think you should worry about what you can and cannot do for the boy in light of this news.  Regardless of what he assumes of Vayne, I doubt that he will ever consider blaming you."  
  
She looked at him and tried to get a better read on his expression.  When she couldn't, she said, "Thank you."  It was all that really mattered, she supposed.  All that she really needed to say.  
  
The man's answering smile made her weak.  "I hate to see such a beautiful woman so sad," he purred, reaching a hand up to move a strand of black hair out of her face.  
  
Her face felt like it was on fire, and she looked down.  She should have better control than this.  This quivering girl was not the woman who had climbed the ladder of Archadian society with wits and control.  She shouldn't have been fawning over this man just because he had a pretty face, but here she was, feeling all kinds of things.  
  
It had been a long time.  It felt like a  _long_  time, though she supposed it hadn't been.  She'd spent the night with a man she'd met in the Cloudborne not long after her return to Bhujerba.  It had been meaningless, a release of tension and a distraction from the loss of her job.  The job that had kept her celibate for years.  It had been hard while accruing enough power to mean something in Archades to trust anyone enough to sleep with them.  It was too likely that they were after her information rather than her heart.  The Bhujerban man hadn't been after her heart, of course, but he hadn't cared at all for her information either, and that had been enough.  
  
She liked this man.  She shouldn't, but she did.  His easy, flirty air could only mean trouble for her heart, but she wasn't thinking with her  _heart_.  
  
"Now," he said, waving another hand expressively, "as you might imagine, I did a little research of my own.  The only person in this world that Larsa Solidor trusts unreservedly?  I thought I ought to know more about her."  At this, Aelia paled slightly, but Al-Cid continued, unperturbed.  "You appear to have come from nowhere.  There is precious little record of you before you began to work your way into the Emperor's employ."  
  
He waited for a response from her, so eventually she replied, "That's not far the truth."  When Al-Cid raised an eyebrow, she felt compelled to add, "As you might have guessed, I am not from Archades.  I grew up... elsewhere, and only later moved to the city."  
  
"And you managed to find your way all the way into the home of the Emperor?" the Rozarrian asked in disbelief.  He knew enough about Archadian society to understand the feat that she had accomplished.  
  
She allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.  "I went at it with singular focus.  I was going to reach the top or die trying."  Her smile softened.  "It was... a surprise, to say the least, to find myself caring so strongly for the boy.  It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure," she added with a laugh.  
  
He seemed to enjoy her candor and smiled back at her.  "And what was the plan?"  
  
She eyed him suspiciously, trying to decide if he was familiar enough with Archades to know that this sort of information was valuable above all else or if he was just interested.  Cautiously, she said, "To be better than my parents."  
  
He again fixed his eyes on her, and they burned with curiosity now, but neither of them said anything more on the subject.  Instead, he said, "If you'll excuse me, there are things I ought to be keeping track of."  
  
"Of course."  
  
He stood and went to talk with the woman who might have been his assistant, leaving Aelia to look back over at the door to the inner sanctum and worry.  
  


* * *

Commotion outside was enough to draw Larsa and the Gran Kiltias out.  Larsa went to stand by Aelia, asking, "What's going on out there?"

She stared at the door, getting between it and Larsa.  "I don't know.  Stay behind me."  She grabbed her ropes and stood at the ready.  Al-Cid also took a readied stance, though he did not wield a weapon.  She took a long, steadying breath and waited.

It didn't sound like a fight, but it did certainly sound like violence.  There were shouts, indistinct from behind the large door, and the occasional crash.  And then the door flew open.

The world fell out from beneath Aelia as she saw the two Judges and the retinue of soldiers they had brought stream into the room.  Bergan and Gabranth.  She knew them enough, and they knew her.

It was Bergan who spoke first, addressing Aelia with venom.  "Step aside.  We are here for the boy.  His brother requires his presence in Archades."

Aelia's grip on her ropes tightened, as did her jaw.  "How dare you come to this holy place like a band of thugs and makes demands like this?" she hissed, keeping herself as a shield.  "He is not going."  It did not seem noteworthy, for her to stand between Larsa and the Judges.  She had promised long ago to protect him, knew that the fate of an empire rested on his shoulders, and that she would give everything to see that that future came to be.

"Don't be foolish," Gabranth said, taking another step forward.  There was something like hesitation in his gait.   _Basch's brother_.  She wondered if she could use that now, to buy time or an advantage, but perhaps throwing her friendship with his twin would only serve to anger him, to dissolve that hesitation.

Aelia only gritted her teeth and repeated, "You cannot have him."  She would not give him up to these Judges, to his brother who had killed his whole family.

"Aelia."

She turned to the boy stepping out from behind her.  "Larsa," she breathed.  There was resignation in those grey eyes, but strength also.  Resolve.  He had made a choice, she realized.  He would give himself up to that pit of vipers so that she and Al-Cid and Ashe might stay without trouble and continue the fight for peace.  Her chest ached, but she nodded.

He crossed the distance between them, and Gabranth guided him out of the Gran Kiltias's sanctum.

This what not what Bergan had truly wanted, it seemed, for as they left he howled in rage.  "Insolence!"  He turned to Aelia and Al-Cid, pulling out his weapons.  "I will not suffer these insurgents!"  And he charged.


	2. Something About Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece from Balthier's POV about him realizing that he's falling for Karre. Self-indulgent, but also so fucking cute and sweet. Spans from [Jahara](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604905/chapters/31549905) to [Ghosts of Rabanastre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604905/chapters/39104890).

He'd almost followed after her last night.  "Need to take a walk, I guess.  Clear my head or something.  I'll be back."  He'd almost stood, but he hadn't.  He'd let her walk off and think, though he'd watched her unconsciously fiddle with the bracelet he'd given her while she listened to Larsa, Aelia, and Penelo.  
  
He still wasn't totally sure why he'd given it to her.  He'd seen the it among the garif's wares and thought of her.  He'd stared at it for only a moment before he'd remembered the cloak she'd given him.  "It's a gift.  Take it."  Accepting a gift from her, taking that cloak from her as she smiled at him...  It had needled at him all through Giza and all through Ozmone.  This bracelet, though Fran had watched him buy it with a raised eyebrow and small smirk, set that right somehow.  And her smile when she'd put it on...  
  
Every time he thought he understood her, she did something that surprised him.  That night in the Estersand when she'd broken her own hand, her gentle understanding with Maeve that first day, her dramatic reaction to the trap Vaan triggered in Raithwall's tomb, her generosity with the cloaks and gil, the flush in her cheeks when she thanked him for asking about her dreams that were not about bangaa but were about someone she cared deeply for.  She was still keeping secrets, but he was now sure that she was not the obnoxious show-off that he'd first thought her to be.  It was an act, an act that was slowly falling away, no more true than the mask he wore.  Part of her, but not nearly all.  
  
He should have gone to her today, should have noticed her distress earlier.  She'd been distant, quiet across Ozmone, and he should have known that something was wrong.  She was never so distant and so quiet.  When Vaan brought their attention to her, he should have stepped forward.  He should have gone to her, comforted her as she shook in absolute terror and stared at the Wood that she had come from.  He knew that his partner was not happy to be passing through, but she was not  _this_  upset.  
  
"I swore.  Never again."  
  
Her words, a plea and a curse, had haunted him as they'd walked through the jungle.  There was nothing of the woman he had come to know in her eyes, her blue eyes that usually sparkled with humor and cleverness and depth.  There was now only anger and pain and an affected apathy, a defense against whatever horror she was reliving.  
  
He should have stayed behind with her.  He was standing on the edge of Eruyt Village now with Fran and many of his other companions, but his mind was not with him.  It was back with her, shaking and alone.  
  
"I survived this jungle on my own before, and I was less skilled and far more... broken."  
  
It hurt him to acknowledge it, but he believed her.  As upset as she was, there was a knowledge in this pain.  A resignation.  He could imagine a younger, frantic woman fighting against something in vain, struggling against something that she perhaps did not understand.  She hurt now, but perhaps she used to hurt more.  
  
And here he was, wondering about how she was doing instead of staying with her and finding out.  
  
But he stayed with his partner, who was also uneasy and who he knew was grateful for his presence now.  
  


* * *

"Are you alright?"

Her eyes turned him before her mind did, and it took a long moment for his words to reach her.  She shrugged.  "No."  Her voice was still hollow, distant.  Not her voice, not really.

He raised an eyebrow.  "You know that it's alright to lie when someone asks you that."  He didn't really mean it.  He appreciated that she didn't lie.  At least about things like that.  She lied or simply omitted a fair amount about herself, but she was earnest and honest when it mattered.

With a roll of her eyes, she chuckled.  It was not the bright sound he was used to, but it was a start.  "A hundred years couldn't make it alright.  A few minutes isn't going to help."

He tried to keep his surprise from showing on his face.  She was older than he'd realized, had been gone from her home for twice as long as Fran had.  Perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him so much; she was so  _different_.  She did not act like any viera he'd ever met.

He hadn't been as successful hiding his reaction as he'd thought because she chuckled.  "Yes, older than Fran."  He felt his face heat as she caught him in such a moment of carelessness, and she saw that, too.  She shook her head.  "No, don't worry about it.  It's not a big deal to me."

Somehow, he believed that, too.  She was...  _odd_ about the things she thought were noteworthy or worth keeping secret.  Her casual discussion about having sex with that bangaa and her somewhat hollow admission that he had died were proof enough of that.  He watched her out of the corner of his eye.  There was an echo of that laughter still in her eyes, though it was fading piece by piece.  He wished it wasn't, but he wasn't quite sure how to bring it back.

She was beautiful.

She'd always been beautiful, but there had always been a 'but' after that thought.  She was beautiful but abrasive.  She was beautiful but annoying.  She was beautiful but untrustworthy.  She was beautiful but selfish.  He wasn't sure when the switch had happened, or if it had been gradual, but he didn't think like that anymore.  She was beautiful  _and_  clever.  She was beautiful and compassionate.  She was beautiful and generous.  She was beautiful and funny and resilient and genuine and strong remarkable and he had come to cherish her company.

She cleared her throat, and he pretended that he had not been staring at her.  "Can I ask you something?"  There was a slight shake in her voice, and he knew that it was not an easy question that she had prepared.

"What is it?"

She was fidgeting.  "I mean, you might not even know.  It's...  Can Fran hear the Wood?"

He tilted his head, surprised.  She hadn't been there when Jote had criticized Fran, hadn't been around when they'd talked about it at all, but apparently it was weighing on her nonetheless.  He glanced at Fran, walking ahead with the others, then back at her, who watched him with a nervous attentiveness.  He said, "Yes, but I think not as well as she used to.  The finer points of how this works elude me, and she's not keen on talking about it, but Jote said as much when we were in Eruyt."  It confused him, but Fran didn't like talking about it so he didn't ask.  The spirit of the Wood spoke to viera, but only if they stayed in the Wood.  Connected to but distinct from their superior Mist senses.  When she said nothing to explain her question, he said, "Jote seemed to think that spending time among humes was the cause of it."

She stayed quiet, ignoring his invitation for her to explain.  He thought so, anyway.  He waited, and when he thought he'd waited long enough, he turned away.  But then she spoke in a voice so quiet that he almost didn't hear, "I can't hear the Wood at all."

He thought that that made sense.  If she'd been gone twice as long as Fran, it didn't surprise him that she couldn't hear the Wood.  "You've been gone from that place for a long time."

She said even more quietly, her eyes down, "Her voice started to dim in my ears before I left Eruyt.  I'd never met a hume in my life."

He stopped walking and stared at her with knit brows.  She stopped walking too and stared back at him.  He frowned, then asked, "Does that happen?"  He knew so little about all of it, but he thought he knew enough to be sure that this was not how it worked.

"Not that I've ever heard of.  Though, I don't know if they've heard of it now.  I ran without telling anyone."  Her shimmering blue eyes dropped to the ground again.  "Perhaps She sensed something in me that I hadn't seen myself.  Perhaps that's why...  Perhaps that's why."

"I'm sorry."  His throat was a little tight, but the words were clear.  He thought he understood her a little better, thought that being abandoned without reason and being forced to fend for herself for a hundred years explained many things about her.  He wished that he could do more to comfort her, to ease that ache in the eyes that had come back to meet his own.  But what could he have done to right such a cruel history?  So he said nothing more.

She seemed surprised by his words, by the very barest compassion he'd managed to give her aloud.  Her voice shook as she said, "Thanks."

Still trying to think of something more to do for her, he stayed by her side for a moment longer before catching up with the rest of the party.

***

They were throwing pebbles at Vaan.  It probably shouldn't have surprised him.  Maeve was always getting into shit like this with her.

In a way, he was  _grateful_  to the drunk.  She had no reservations about anything, an she was always the first to rush forward.  Like when they had returned from Eruyt.  She had been empty, hollow, and he'd tried to think of something to do or say to bring back that light to her eyes.  But Maeve had only had to think for a second before rushing forward and telling that story that had brought a smile back to her face.  And now, at the thought of going back to that jungle, she was slipping back into that numbness, but Maeve had managed to cheer her up with only a handful of small rocks.

He hadn't heard Fran come up beside him.  She quietly, with laughter in her eyes, "Careful, sky pirate, lest you let your heart be stolen."

He scoffed and brushed off the comment.  He hadn't realized just how noticeable his preoccupation had become.  He'd endeavor to be less obvious in the future.

Just then, she turn and looked at him.  Her cheeks turned pink at the eye contact, then she flashed him a large, wild grin.  It was not flirty, not sweet, but it was genuine, and he appreciated it for that.

* * *

She shook.  They stared silently at her as she shook, her lance lodged into the carcass of the wyrm that she had almost single-handedly defeated in her state of grief and rage.  It had been frightening to watch, especially frightening because of its contrast with what it ought to have been, how she ought to be.  She raised a shaking hand to wipe tears off her cheek, tears that had only recently stopped falling, but it was covered in blood and spores and pollen, and it left a streak of red on her cheek.  She seemed unable to comprehend exactly what she had just done, and she stared at her hand with hollow eyes.

This time, he did step forward.  He pulled out a handkerchief and held it out to her.  "Here," he said, hoping that his voice was gentle enough not to grate on her in such an agitated state.

She stared at it for a long time before taking it, and if she didn't quite know what it was she was looking at.  She wiped the blood from her face, cleaned her hands as best she could with the small scrap of fabric, then held it back out to him.

"No, keep it," he said immediately.  Before she could protest, he continued, "It's disgusting.  I don't want it back."  It was partially true, but he was also baiting her, trying to do what Maeve always seemed to do and pull her out of that chasm inside herself.  

It seemed to work a little, for there was the glimmer of a glimmer in her eyes, and she said, "I'll wash it first, then."

He doubted that the blood would ever really wash out of the handkerchief, but he had done what he'd wanted to do, so he shrugged and nodded anyway.

* * *

He leaned over Bergan's body, inspecting the armor that had been infused with nethicite, and he found himself thinking of her.  Had she known that she was grabbing him?  Had it been a conscious decision to reach for and protect  _him_ rather than someone else, or had he just been nearby?  He tried to look closely at the armor, but he kept seeing her red cheeks in his mind.  She was beautiful and... and she was driving him crazy, if he was being honest.  He was the _Leading Man_ , for the gods' sakes.  She shouldn't be doing this to him.

He stood, trying to shake off the haze that she kept putting him in.  "He set his very bones about with manufacted nethicite," he managed to say.

* * *

A  _husband_.  She'd had a  _husband_.  A  _poor_ husband.  Her words echoed in his head as he sat beside Fran in the Sandsea.

"And I loved him.  He was...  He made me forget that I was broken.  He made me want to live, made me  _cherish_ life because it was with him.  We had nothing except each other, and it was perfect."

It certainly hadn't been the secret that he'd thought she'd been keeping: love, the destruction of which had torn her in two.  He didn't quite know what to make of it.  On one hand, it was intimidating.  This man had saved her life, it seemed, in every way he could, and after eighty years his loss was still fresh.  How could there be room for anyone else in her heart after a love like that?  On the other hand, it was endearing.  She loved fully and completely, and the thought of being on the receiving end of such a love thrilled him.

What was he doing?  He wasn't here to fall in love.  He was here to get to the bottom of the nethicite that kept popping up in his life, but his focus kept drifting back to the viera currently at the bar.

"Do you intend to continue on this way?"  Fran was staring at him with a sparkle of amusement in her hooded eyes.  She'd been watching the silent conversation had played in his mind.  She knew.  His partner's senses were keen, and she knew him well.  She knew what was bubbling in his heart.  Before he himself had, he thought.  When he didn't reply, because what could he say, she smirked.  "I thought Leading Men were men of action."  She stood and walked away, stopping at the bar before moving to where Aelia sat.  The nanny was in need of a friend, he thought.  Fran's presence was better off there, rather than here with him as he wrestled with his feelings.

He was so wrapped up in them, in fact, that he didn't see her approach.  He didn't notice her until she plopped down in his lap.  She grinned at him, eyes barely open and face flushed with drink.  "Hey, Rainbow Rings," she said, her words slurring and her breath thickly scented with alcohol.  He raised an eyebrow at the nickname, and she continued, "I heard that you and Franny are  _not_  soul mates."

His eyes darted to his partner, who caught his gaze and smirked ever so slightly at him.  He wasn't sure if he ought to thank her or throttle her for the intervention.

Karre continued, "And this is good.  Because you and I probably are."

He wondered if she registered the flush in his cheeks.  "Are we?" he replied.  He was the Leading Man.  He was suave and cool and  _not_  flustered.

She slapped his chest lightly with a snort.  "Yeah.  Didja see those  _sparks_  today?  Fucking...  _sparks_ , man.  Between us.  Soul mates."  It took her eyes a moment to focus on his face, but the look that came over her own when she did, unguarded and unprotected and unreservedly true, shattered him.  "I think I like you a lot, Balthier."

She was beautiful and drunk.   _Very_ drunk.  Forget-this-in-the-morning drunk.  He'd be the worst kind of bastard to take advantage of this honesty, this confession that he'd been itching to hear.  He forced himself to say, "I think you ought to go to bed, Karre."  But then, because he was weak and because her heart looked like it was breaking, he added, "And I like you too."

Her smile lit up the room.  "Really?  Even though I'm..."

He wasn't sure if she had too many words in her head or not enough, but he didn't need her to finish.  It didn't matter what word came next.  His answer was the same.  "Yes."  She giggled, and he put a hand on her back.  "Now, please, Karre.  Let's get you home."

She allowed herself to be brought to her feet, though she teetered when upright.  He let her lean against him for his benefit as much as her own, and they left the Sandsea together.  Her steps began to slow, and he turned to her, ready to encourage her to continue walking and not give into drunken aimlessness, but he found her with her head tipped up, eyes alight.  She said, "The stars are beautiful.  We used to look at the stars together, yanno?  He lived in Lowtown, and he didn't have a single window, but we took walks at night, and we looked up at the stars together."  She let out a wistful sigh, and it pulled at his heart.  She let her head roll down so that she was looking at him.  She grinned and patted his chest.  "You're beautiful, too, yanno?"

And he laughed.  She was beautiful and blunt and not suave and he loved it.  Her.  He said, "I think  _you're_ beautiful."

Her grin widened.  "I know I am."  She let out what he could only describe as a messy cackle.  "Good looks,  _bad_  people skills.  That's me."

He was still chuckling as he started to pull her back into motion.  "They're not so bad.  You managed to rope  _me_ in."

She snorted.  "Yeah, but how long did that take?  And it only even kinda happened because I wouldn't leave you alone."

He thought it best not to agree with her aloud, though he couldn't quite manage a disagreement, either.  She'd changed his mind, sure, but she'd had to.  Instead, as they reached the door to the apartment building, he said quietly, "I'm glad you didn't."

The stairs proved a bit of a challenge.  She'd been stumbling on the flat ground, and working in an incline with her impaired motor skills was difficult to say the least, but eventually they managed it.  He led her into the apartment and into her room.

Inside, she froze, and then she turned to him with a devilish grin.  She slurred, "Wouldja lookit this.  You and me.   _Alone_.  In my  _bedroom_."  She did a dramatic wink, and her other eyelid only dipped slightly.

"Karre," he said.  He couldn't.  They couldn't.  Not tonight, with her so drunk.  He wouldn't take advantage of her like this, even if the thought of being alone in this bedroom with her did excite him.

But Karre ignored him, giving him another sloppy wink.  Her clothes were off before he truly had time to process that she was removing them, and then she was standing before her, naked skin exposed.  She was beautiful and naked and crawling onto the bed.  She cooed, "Join me."

It felt wrong to stare.  She was drunk, and he was sure that sober Karre would be mortified at the thought of such a display.  She was beautiful, though.  She never wore too much clothing, always had skin exposed, but seeing her in nothing was something else.  The lines of her muscles and the lines of her curves caught the light in tantalizing ways, and the scars across her caramel skin did nothing to diminish his desire to run his hands along it.  Her breasts were small, but they were perfect, and they were waiting for  _him_.  He wanted her, but he said, "We can't, Karre.  Not tonight."

She pouted at him.  And then she fell back into a sitting position.  And then her chin began to wobble and her eyes filled with tears.  "This was  _our_  bed," she whimpered.

Balthier let out a long sigh.  It was not the distraction that he'd hoped for.  After another moment of indecision, Balthier removed his vest and his shoes, and he got onto the bed beside her.  He would not take advantage of her, but he couldn't leave her alone like this.  He put a hand on her shoulder, the only part of her naked flesh that felt safe.

She let out a small sob.  " _We_ had sex in this bed, and now I wanna have sex with  _you_ in this bed."  She slid down and curled up on her side, facing away from him.

Guilt, then.  She was feeling guilty for wanting him when memories of Torrhen still lingered so strongly in her mind and heart.  He sunk down, laying behind her but careful about how close he was.  Close enough to comfort, far enough that...  Far enough.  He whispered in her ear, "Take your time.  I'll wait."  He would, he knew.  He would wait for her to soothe her demons.  He would help, if he could, but if he couldn't then he would wait for her to do it herself.

Her shaky breaths evened out, and after a few moments it became clear that she had fallen asleep.

He allowed himself an indulgent kiss on her shoulder before turning out the light.  He would be here when she woke up.  Her honesty tonight had been fueled by alcohol.  His honesty in the morning would not.


	3. Recollections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A series of vignettes taking place well before the story begins, but a spoiler up until [Ghosts of Rabanastre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604905/chapters/39104890).

The world fades in and out.  It's hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to stay awake.  I begin to think that I'm dying, then I wonder if I've been dying since before I left.  Could be.  That would explain it, I suppose.  It will be nice to die now, I think.  If I'm dead, I won't have to carry this shame with me.  
  
But there's a voice in the distance.  Dehydrated and exhausted and bleeding out, I cannot understand it.  I am barely capable of wondering its intention.  Consciousness plays a game with me, and I am unsure if what I see is a dream.  
  
He's a hume.  Even with the blurry image my eyes have captured, I can tell that much.  He has blonde hair that falls on his shoulders, and it looks as though he cuts it himself because it's uneven and messy.  His skin is tan and a bit dirty, I think.  He has grey eyes that stare at me.  It's like he's waiting for something, but I don't know what.  
  
The world fades away again.  
  


* * *

I wake, and that is a surprise in itself.  My surroundings are unfamiliar.  Not only have I never been here, but I cannot even guess at what this place must be.  I am in a bed, I think.  A hume bed.  There are walls around me, and the room is small and dark.  I can hear the buzz of the city coming from above, and the sound of someone moving beyond the door.

I stand, and my body screams in protest.  I may be alive, but my journey from the Wood has taken a toll on my body that will not quickly be overcome.  My shoes have been taken off, I realize with surprise, though otherwise I appear untouched.  This surprises me; it is not what I would expect of a hume.

I open the door, peeking into the next room.  He's there, moving around what I think might be a kitchen.

He hears me enter and turns quickly to me.  "You're awake!"  He sounds even more surprised than I was.  "How are you feeling?"  I say nothing in reply as I step into the room, but a wince in pain gives me away, and he takes an instinctual step toward me.  "Oh, sit down.  Let me see if I can find another potion."

I sit on a nearby chair.  It is made of metal and uncomfortable, but I realize that merely standing has drained some of my energy and that sitting will do me good.

The hume brings a small vial over to me and hands it to me.  "It's not much, but it should help."  As I smell the vial, just in case, he says, "I'm Torrhen."  He is obviously waiting for me to introduce myself after I down the potion, feeling its warmth in my gut and its power in my limbs.  When I say nothing, he asks, "What's your name?"

I cannot answer.  I am not Tjrv.  I cannot be Tjrv any longer.  Tjrv is the name of a viera.  I do not know  _what_  I am anymore, but I am no longer a viera.  I think tears begin to form in my eyes, and I say, "I have no name now."

The hume stares at me uncomprehendingly.  "What do you mean?"

"I am not who I used to be," I say, and I feel my throat tightening.  "I do not deserve the name I was given."

He continues to stare at me, and I wonder about hume senses.  Viera are taught that humes are dull and oblivious, but the grey eyes upon me do not feel so dull.  I worry that he sees and understands.  I do not wish for my shame to be known in this foreign land by this kind stranger.  He takes a deep breath and says, "Well, I don't know what happened, and if you don't want to talk about it I won't make you, but I want you to know that you could."  I will not.  I am certain of this.  He continues, "It would be easier if I had something to call you, though."

I nod and say, "You may name me, if you wish."  Taking on a hume name will be fitting, I think.

Torrhen seems touched by this suggestion, and he takes a moment to think.  "How about 'Karre'?  I've always liked that name."

I say the name a few times to get the hang of it, then nod.  "Karre it is.  Thank you."

He smiles, and I can tell that he is proud to have suggested something I would accept.  Then he stands and says, "Well, Karre, I was just making some dinner, which you are welcome to join me for.  And I don't want you to worry; you can stay here with me until you feel better.  You were pretty out of it when I found you, and I want you to make sure you're all set before you get on your way.  Where are you heading, anyway, if you don't mind me asking?"

I shrug.  "I was merely heading 'away.'  I had no destination in mind."  I pause and listen to the bustling city above.  "Perhaps here is far enough for now."

* * *

It is not so bad, living in that small apartment with Torrhen.  It is another day before I am really recovered from my flight here, and Torrhen continues to avoid conversations that are bound to hurt me.  I am grateful to him for all that he does for me.  It is a lot, I think, in the world of humes, to be so generous with strangers.  I do not fully understand the way that we interact, the relationship we form, but it keeps me afloat in the strange, busy hume city of Rabanastre.

When I admit to Torrhen that I am well enough to leave, he asks if I will stay in the city or travel on.  I am tired of running and plan to stay here.  He offers continued use of his home, should I still need it.  "Why do you do this for me?" I ask, afraid that we are misunderstanding each other.  If the offer is not what it seems, I will not stay, but this world is so different from Eruyt, and I know so little about the customs that govern these people.

He thinks for a moment, as though he had not considered his own motivations.  "I suppose I like the company," he admits with a shrug.  "Don't get much of it nowadays."

I smile for a moment, and it is my first smile since leaving Eruyt.  The friendship of this hume is enough that, for a moment, I have forgotten what has brought me to this city.  "I'll see you tonight, then."

* * *

"What's in your hand?" Torrhen asks when I return that night.

I glance again at the bill in my hand.  "A purpose, I think," I say, and show him the page.  I wandered all day in the city.  It was far too loud and crowded, and humes, bangaa, seeqs, and viera alike stared at me when I walked by.  It was a little after midday when I stumbled into the tavern called Mamun's Madhu and noticed the board.  It was covered in sheets of paper of various forms, but this caught my eye.  It was a bill posted by a citizen of Rabanastre asking for a hunter to go into the Westersand and kill a wyrm known as the Arridosaur.  I may not be suited for much in this hume city, but I was trained as a hunter by the viera, and I am good at it.  After all, I survived the trip to Rabanastre.

Torrhen looks the bill over, then nods.  "That's an honest living.  Think you can do it?"

"Yes."  I am confident in this.

He smiles at me, and he nods again.  "Then good luck.  I'm sure you'll be great."  He sets dinner on the small table and offers me a seat.

* * *  


  
It has been a month.  I have begun pulling my weight, offering gil to Torrhen to pay for my residence and food in his home, and we have fallen into a routine.  He works at a factory in the city, and I go on hunts.  At night, we eat dinner together and talk.

I like this hume more and more every day.  He is quick to smile, quick to laugh, and he speaks to me as though I am already an old friend.  Every day that I spend with him pushes that pain in my chest a little farther away, dulls it just a bit.  I am grateful to him, and in the past few days I begin to think that I am falling in love with him.

But he has never asked anything of me like that.  It puzzles me.  We get along so well, he and I, and I when I walk by men stop and stare.  And Torrhen does not do this.

He catches me staring at him and gives me a hesitant smile.  "What are you thinking about?" he asks.

I tilt my head to the side.  "I am trying to understand something."

His smile gets a little wider.  "What is it?"

"You."

He laughs, and it makes his whole face glow.  He leans back in his chair and says, "I didn't know I was such a big mystery.  What about me is so hard to figure out?

  
"You have never asked to touch me," I say, and the smile on his face disappears.  He stares at me with furrowed brows.  "Why?  Do you not think me attractive?"  
  
"Uhh," he starts, then exhales forcefully.  He runs a hand through his golden hair, hair that he cuts himself and is always a little messy.  His tan face is turning red as he says, "Uhh, yeah, Karre, I think you're attractive."  
  
"But that is not enough?"  
  
He has trouble meeting my gaze, and he sighs again.  "Shit, Karre."  
  
"I'm sorry," I say, shaking my head.  I stand to leave.  "I did not mean to upset you with this question."  I did not think it would be such a big deal, but I think humes make something different of these things than I am used to.  
  
He stands too.  "No, wait."  When I stop and look at him, he continues, "Yes, Karre.  You're beautiful.  And so much more than that."  The gaze that lingers on me makes my heart sing.  He runs his hand through his hair again.  "I've never asked because...  It didn't seem right.  I didn't want you to think it was an obligation, to think I expected anything from you for what I've done."  Because he had done so much for me.  "If anything like that was ever going to happen between us, I wanted to be sure that it was because you wanted it and not because you felt like you should."  
  
"And if I should want it?"  I reach my hand out to him.  
  
He takes it and steps right up to me, and his smile is brilliant.  "Then that would be  _more_  than enough."  
  


* * *

"I can't even believe it," Torrhen says, his grey eyes sparkling in the sunshine.

"Come in," I say, tugging on his hand.

I lead him into the apartment,  _our_  apartment.  It's not big, barely bigger than the old one, but it's above ground and it's  _ours_.  We have been saving up for a few years now, saving up enough gil to move out of Lowtown and into the city proper.  Torrhen grins at me from the living room, smiles brighter than the sunlight that streams through the windows.  I'm smiling, too.  He can always make me smile.  There is no darkness that Torrhen cannot chase away.

"Marry me."

My heart stops for a moment.  "What?"

He runs his hand through his hair, but his smile still shines on me.  "I don't have a ring.  Sorry.  I should have one.  You deserve one.  But we've been saving up for this.  So I didn't get one.  But this," he says, and he motions to the apartment that we share, "and you," and the reverence with which he says that make my chest tight.  He shakes his head but does not shake away his smile.  "I can't think of a life without you in it, Karre.  Will you marry me?"

Marriage is a hume custom.  The viera do not marry; they mate for fleeting pleasure or for children.  Marriage is a new concept to me, the binding of oneself to another in this way.  But I have been bound to Torrhen from the day that he rescued me in Giza, and it is not the ring that makes me long to marry him.  I jump into his arms, pressing my forehead to his.  "Of course."

* * *

Torrhen looks up at me, and even now he smiles, and it breaks my heart.  He lifts a hand to catch the tear on my cheek and says, "Don't cry.  I hate seeing you cry."  I wish I could stop, but I can't.  His voice is as frail as his body is, and he looks like he's about to say something, but he starts coughing.

Blood.  So much blood.  Every wheeze brings a little more blood out of his lungs, but we know that it does not stay gone for long.

We know that Torrhen will not be here for long.

His smile falters at the strain the coughing fit has put on him, and he wipes his hands on the rag beside the bed, already stained red.

"The day that I found you was the luckiest day of my life," he says, this time even quieter in an attempt to keep the coughing at bay.  "I don't regret a single day of it."

I shake my head, and tears blur my vision.  "I love you," is all I can manage to say before I choke on another sob.  I cannot tell him everything that he's done for me, in how many ways he's saved my life since that day in Giza.  I cannot tell him that I had never considered that happiness could be so overwhelming until I met him.  I cannot even tell him my truth, cannot share my name with the man I love.

We should have had more time.  He is not old, not even for a hume, but this illness has taken hold of him completely, and it will not let him go.  Once, it might have, but the medicine he needed was so expensive.  We couldn't afford it, so the illness grew and grew in his chest.  And now he lies beside me, dying.

"I love you," he says back to me, but he begins coughing again, and there is nothing I can do but watch.

* * *

I stand at the Westgate, a bag slung over my shoulder and my lance in hand.  I do not know where I will go, perhaps all the way to Rozarria, perhaps farther, but I will not stay here.

I will not stay in this city that once held such light and happiness.  I will not stay in this city that has only death waiting within.

I do not know where I will go, but I know what I will do.  I will hunt.  I will hunt for monsters and treasure and gil.  I will accrue wealth, and I will not stop, because I have learned that wealth matters above all else, wealth decides whether you live or die.  And I will not allow poverty to take anything more from me.


End file.
